Endless Black & Broken Promise
by saphirefox-irl
Summary: Batman needs Crane's help and kidnaps him from Arkham. But is there anything left of Jonathon's mind? And is Bruce loosing his soul? Now with a sequel in which a promise is broken and revenge is required.
1. Lost

I'm supposed to be writting a Pirates Of The Carribean fic. Well actually I'm supposed to be studying. But this insisted I write it. I'll either have another chapter up today or not for a week or so. This isn't designed to be a prequal to 'Sorry's Not A Promise' but it can be if you want. This fic is set in the Batman Begins movieverse but with some stuff from the comics, particularly the scarecrow year 1 ones.

I'm 20 so obviously I don't own Batman. Don't sue me I'm just having fun.

Bruce stared into the pitch black room, barely able to make out the huddled form in the far corner. He was speaking quietly to himself, seemed to be trying to hide from the beam of artificial light that had entered his cell.

"Crane."

He either didn't hear or chose not to respond.

"... buttons for eyes ... not allowed to run ... scarecrow ... hydrogen, helium, lithium ..."

"Dr. Crane!"

There's a shuffling sound as he backs farther into the corner. "No... I'll be good..."

He didn't have time for this. Striding purposefully into the padded room he grasped the former psychiatrist by the straps of his straightjacket and yanked him to his feet. "You're going to come with me. Do you understand?"

He was shaking violently, refusing to look at the man holding him upright. Bruce forced his head up.

"the bat-man..."

He'd hoped Crane would walk of his own accord. It would have been easier. However he proved unwilling or perhaps unable, to walk at more than a snail's pace and had to be half dragged through the empty corridors of the asylum. Then, when he started to struggle uselessly and scream at blank walls, Bruce had been forced to knock him out for fear he'd attract the attention of a guard. He'd carried him then. It had been easy, he weighed nothing.

Depositing him on the passenger seat he climbed into the tumbler. Crane looked tiny beside him, almost like a sleeping child.

'_But he's no innocent,'_ Bruce reminded himself.

There were dark shadows under Jonathon's eyes that might have been fading bruises.


	2. Glimps of Night

Thanks for the reviews! Would have updated sooner but I had exams and some computer problems. Some people asked me to update 'Sorry's Not A Promise'. I'll try to.

"Good morning Master Wayne," greeted Alfred as Batman climbed from his tank. Whatever else he had been going to say died on his lips however when his friend and employer pulled the skeletal straight-jacketed figure out after him.

"When you said you were going to get help, this wasn't quite what I'd imagined."

Aware that the older man had a point, that he was getting desperate for any solution, but unwilling to admit it Bruce stated, "This is Dr. Jonathon Crane. Remember, 'The Scarecrow'?"

Sudden understanding clashed with concern in the butler's eyes. "You broke him out of Arkham then?"

The man on the floor was starting to regain consciousness. Hearing the name of his alter ego he made a strangled sound. The mention of the asylum caused him to curl into a ball.

"I'll bring him back."

"He looks ill Master Wayne."

"He'd hardly have been in a mental hospital if he were healthy Alfred."

"No sir, what I meant was that he looks physically ill."

"He only needs to be able to talk."

A pause. "How do you plan to go about this Master Wayne?"

"I don't know yet." He took a deep breath. "Could you bring down some food… and the smallest clothes of mine you can find?"

"Certainly sir."

It took Alfred about fifteen minutes to return and in that time Bruce stood silently, observing the insane psycho-pharmacologist. He'd started talking to himself again.

"… hydrogen 1.008, helium 4.003, lithium 6.94, beryllium 9.013 … the crows! no … don't make me go in there again … please not again … the crows … drowning … and wings and beaks and blood … and fists and feet and blood … there's blood on the grass … and fire burns … but it's over … it's supposed to be over! hydrogen, helium …"

"I have the food and clothing you requested Master Wayne."

Bruce looked up, glad of the distraction. He didn't want to understand the meaning of the words. "Good. Can you just leave them on the floor there? I'll be up later."

Consciouss of the dismissal the butler left the cave, watching the younger man untill the passage of the lift made it impossible.

Roughly pullling off the straightjacket and instructing Jonathomn to "Get changed into something that doesn't stink" Bruce thrust the bundle of clothes into his arms.

He made no attempt to hold on to them and they tumbled to the stone floor.

"Scarecrow. Scarecrow. Scarecrow. Scarecrow..."

"For god's sake!" Agrievated he pulled open the zip on the slighter man's jumpsuit and started to tug it down over his shoulders. He stopped. Crane was covered in bruises. And skeleton thin. More slowly now he proceeded to remove the uniform. Some of the marks were obviously caused by the straps of his straightjacket, which had been tied exceptionally tight. Others - raised and purple - were where the buckles had dug into his back. But there were more, many more. It looked like he had broken ribs. And his right hand hung awkwardly at the wrist. On investigating the probable broken bone Bruce found a scar. Two or three inches long it ran down through the artery. Grabbing Jonathon's left arm he found its match. They were slightly faded, obviously years old. He looked up from the injuries into impossibly blue eyes making no comment, though silently he was demanding an explanation.

"It's spinning round in the dark ... won't stop ..."

He wanted to hit the pale face staring wide eyed at him, to force its owner to make sence. He was no use like this! Instead he dressed him quickly and carelessly.

Crane dropped back to sit on the floor when it was done, the grey sweater and navy drawstring pants ridiculously overlarge.

Batman collected the tray and dropped it in front of the now slightly rocking man. There was stew and a cup of tea. Some of the drink sloshed out onto the saucer. "Eat."

He stared numbly at the tray for a second before shakily picking up a fork. He watched it glint in the dim light, then stabbed it into his arm.

Batman grabbed it off him, backhanding him hard across the face. "Don't do that!"

For a moment Crane stared up at him. His lip had split and a trail of crimson stood out starkly against the paper white of his face. Then he snatched the cup of tea and drank it quickly, as though afraid it would be taken away too.

Almost immediately he was sick.

Bruce knew he should be concerned. But somehow all he could feel was annoyed. The ground had been clean. Now it was dirty. He didn't want this criminal in his cave. Quickly grabbing a pair of handcuffs from his belt he chained Crane to a sturdy table and left for his mansion. He didn't want to deal with the Scarecrow right now.


	3. Blanket Of Dark

Hey, sorry this update took so long. Excuses involve major computer problems, a stolen USB key and being really busy. Thanks to everyone who reviewed (I'd thank you all individually but I've got a lab in a few minutes.) I'll update other stories as soon as I can. This is written pretty quickly so I might redo this chapter later. Also in case anyone hasn't read 'Sorry's not a promise' this is not a nice story. It is dark and Batman in particular doesn't come across as a nice guy. (By the way if his behaviour seems erratic that's on purpose.)

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When Bruce returned to the cave the next morning he found Jonathon awake with his head resting on his knees, his free arm wrapped around them loosely. His other wrist was bloody and bruised from pulling against the cuff.

He didn't appear to have slept, possibly couldn't in that position.

Cautiously Bruce unlocked the restraints, pulling the smaller man to his feet when he didn't stand of his own accord. He led Crane to an area where a makeshift laboratory had been set up and pushed him down onto a chair. "Are you aware of recent events?"

He gazed blankly at a microscope.

"I suppose you're not." Angry, as though he should know. "People all over the city are being poisoned. Twenty five are dead already."

"Ring a ring a' rosies. We all fall down."

"Shut up! You're going to help me find a cure. Do you understand?"

"I understand. No one else does."

A bundle of papers were shoved into pale slender hands. "These are the toxicology reports. Read them."

Jonathon stared through the text for a moment. Then he tossed the sheets into the air and laughed as they fluttered down like over-sized snowflakes.

A sudden blow knocked him off the chair.

"What's wrong with you?" A sharp kick. "Don't you understand that people are dying?" Another kick. "Don't you care?" Another. "Do you think it's funny?" Another. "I hate you!" A punch this time. "All you fucking criminals!" Pulling him up, holding him against the wall. "You only ever think about yourselves."

Jonathon was breathing rapidly. His hands were shaking. But he was smiling, grinning widely. A second punch streaked his face with blood.

He laughed. "You're the same as me Bat-Man."

Another blow. "I'm nothing like you! You're a filthy criminal."

"And you're a bully." The words were slurred, possibly as a result of his head recoiling against the rock wall. But he was still smiling. "We're still the same."

"Shut. Up." He pushed him to the ground. Scarecrow laughed and laughed.

Bruce didn't know why he started to take off his armoured suit. He certainly had made no conscious decision to do so. But when Batman stood wearing only his mask and numerous scars Jonathon had stopped laughing. Only terror was shining in his eyes.

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By the time Bruce had reached his rebuilt bedroom the furious anger and elation he'd felt had disappeared. Guilt and disgust had taken their place.

Throwing his mask on the bed he paced the length of the room. Back and forth, getting faster all the time. _'Why did I do it?' _Faster and faster. _'Why? Why? Why?' _He stopped. And suddenly his fist was through the wall. _'Why did I enjoy it?'_

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He tracked a furrow in the carpet, trying to push the memories from his mind, for another twenty minutes before his conscience forced him to return to the cave.

He'd chained Crane to the same table as before. The former psychiatrist lay curled in a tight ball on the stone floor, one arm pulled tauntly upwards by the cuff.

Slowly Bruce moved closer. Jonathon was shuddering violently. Bruce crouched down beside him. Cautiously he placed a hand on his shoulder. Crane flinched sharply away.

"It's ok. I'm not going to do that again."

The slighter man gave no indication of having heard, understood or believed these words. He tried to curl up tighter, drawing small frightened breaths.

Silently Bruce unlocked the handcuffs.

Jonathon's arm fell to the floor with a thud. He pulled it in towards his body, the shaking slightly less now.

"I'm not trying to hurt you now. I just want to get you cleaned up." He stood again, crossed to the far side of the cave and picked up a spare blanket which was stored there. Returning to Crane he wrapped it around him. Then, doing his best not to jar broken bones, he lifted him. Jonathon was still shaking and trying to flinch away.

Bruce was already at the lift by the time he realised that he'd forgotten to wear his mask. Well, that hardly mattered now.

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He brought Crane upstairs, through his bedroom and into the en-suite. Setting him down he began to run a warm bath.

When the large tub was almost full he tried to take away the blanket. Jonathon made a small terrified noise and tried to back-away.

"Just a bath. I promise."

He stopped trying to get away, but his breathing was rapid and his hands were still shaking.

Bruce lifted him into the water. Crane winced. The warm liquid quickly turned the rust-red of half dried blood. Jonathon stared at it for a moment, then turned so he was facing out into the room. His piercing blue eyes seemed to look through the world, at something that wasn't there.

"Don't hold me under. I'll be a good boy."

Bruce assured him that he wouldn't, though he had the impression the words were not directed at him. Pouring a measure of shampoo into his palm he made an effort to remove the filth and blood from the other man's matted hair.

When he was clean Bruce lifted Jonathon out of the bath and sat him down wrapped in a large towel. All of a sudden he seemed incredibly young, all skinny limbs and huge eyes. The billionaire retrieved a first-aid kit and set about treating the unresisting man's wounds.

It took hours. It was clear that he should have been in a hospital. But that wasn't an option, not anymore. So, bandaging him up as best he could, Bruce dressed him in a pair of boxers and the smallest t-shirt he could find. He brought him to his bed. Jonathon curled into a ball on top of the down-filled blanket. For a moment or two green eyes watched him. Then Bruce turned and walked away. Passing through the door he hesitated a moment before turning the key and locking it behind him.


	4. Hurricanes and Calm

Thank to QueenCaroline and coco for the reviews. To answer your question coco, yes Jonathon will be lucid (not all the time but for large chunks of it.) This is the first chapter in which there is a reasonable period of lucidity. If it's not clear why let me know.

And (sorry about the lateness, I was in a rush when I did the last update) thanks to neo savvy, K.W. (I'm glad you like it. I've also been on both sides a bit there so maybe that helps. Do you have any fics up?),GuTTerArT (on your advice – if anyone wants to beta read this let me know.), RavensWood, MyFavoriteOutfitIsAStraightjacket and Nightarcher210 for reviewing chapter 2.

Here's the next part.

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Bruce didn't sleep well that night and put it down to not being in his own bed.

Returning to his room he fully expected to be attacked by the Scarecrow. As a result, it came of something of a surprise to find him sleeping. He must have been having a nightmare for he twisted and flinched, eyes moving rapidly beneath their closed lids. Approaching the bed Batman shook him awake, more forcefully than he had intended. Lagoon-blue eyes shot open as weak limbs tensed. "Get up. It's time for breakfast." He watched Crane edge to side of the bed and stand shakily.

He led him downstairs and back to the bat-cave. In the laboratory Alfred had left a breakfast tray. After being directed to the chair Jonathon picked up a slice of toast, took a few anxious bites and replaced it back on the tray. He drank about half of a glass of orange juice, then set that down too.

"Aren't you going to eat anymore?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Fine." Picking up the handcuffs he chained Crane's right arm to the chair. "Get to work then," he said as he left the room.

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Several hours later, just before heading out into the night, Batman returned to the lab. He found that the Scarecrow had smashed a test-tube and with the broken glass repeatedly sliced into his legs and tied arm. Though there was a fair amount of blood, it was evident the cuts were not deep enough to be imediately life treathening.

A sharp slap threw Crane's head to the side. "Why would you do that?" Angry, shouted and confused.

"It hurts."

"Of course it hurts! You fucking slashed yourself!"

"It hurts inside."

"Shut up!" Another slap. "I already told you not to injure yourself!" A punch. Then a second. And suddenly they were on the ground and Jonathon wasn't cuffed to the chair anymore but his hands were held together. The boxers were twisted around his ankels. Bruises formed. He struggled uselessly.

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After only a couple of hours in the Narrows Bruce returned to the cave. Jonathon was sitting against the wall. Though he was shaking violently, his expression was blank.

"Are you cold?" The guilt was clear in his voice.

"It's the medications wearing off." He seemed quite calm. "The incompedents now running Arkham don't know to administer them without causing dependancy."

A pause. "What did they have you on?"

"It kept changing. And some of the little pills look so alike... I wasn't always sure. There were sedatives and anti-psychotics. Sometimes paralitics."

He wanted to ask where the bruises had come from, to hear they were a side-effect of the drugs. But the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Because no amount of blood thinners could break bones.

"Look on the table," Crane directed.

Doing as he was told Bruce found a picture drawn in red ink. The doctor must have done it hours ago. It was a picture of a molecule, complex and strangely beautiful. "What is this?"

"What you wanted. The cure."

"Half the scientists in the city are working flat out on this and haven't been able to come up with anything. You expect me to believe you've done it in twelve hours?"

"Yes."

There was a silence.

"You weren't the first one," Jonathon said very quietly. "I wanted you to know that."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Bat-Man made me remember some things I'd rather forget."

He didn't want to understand. He didn't want to but he did. "Who was it? When?"

"When I was still studying for my degree," he replied in an emotionless voice. "I was bringing some books back to the library one night when I ran into some older students." He laughed. "Well, they were all older actually. Did you know that I graduated high school at fourteen with a full scholarship to the University of Gotham?"

"No, I didn't know that. What happened with the other students?"

"They were drunk. They shoved me against a wall, then did much the same as you've done."

Bruce didn't say anything for a long moment. Then eventually, "I didn't mean to, either time. I am sorry."

"Why?"

That question threw him. "Because it was wrong. Nothing you've done could ever change the fact that it was wrong."

Jonathon raised his head, finnally looking at him. "No one's ever been sorry before."


	5. If you look in old cupboards

Sorry I took a while to update, I've been sick. This chapter was originally longer but I decided this was a better place to end it. Though I'm still not really sure. It might be a while before I get the next part typed up cause I'm really busy at the moment but I'll do it as quick as I can. Thanks Bright Nova, neo savvy (I think it's still spelt wrong in this, sorry! I'll try fix it in the next part. p.s. can't wait to read your fic.) and Queen Caroline (no plans to add other Batman characters yet but maybe later.) for the reviews.

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Batman brought the cure to the police. But he didn't bring the Scarecrow back to Arkham. Instead he locked him in a guest bedroom next to his own.

Sitting on top of his duvet Bruce listened to him scream at nightmares through the wall.

Even without the noise he knew he wouldn't sleep. He felt disgusted with himself and unbearably guilty. But he felt something else too, something he couldn't identify. His mind was racing. He hadn't known Crane had been raped before. He wasn't sure it made any difference. He wasn't even entirely sure he cared. But he hadn't known that.

What else did he not know about the man? That thought disturbed him. Surely he should know everything there was to know about Dr. Jonathon Crane.

_'Why?' _a small voice questioned unexpectedly in the back of his mind.

A moment's hesitation.

"A man should know his enemies."

A few seconds consideration, then he pushed himself up.

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Down in the cave Bruce activated his multi-million dollar computer system.

He already had a file on the Scarecrow of course. But looking at it now it seemed to be riddled with omissions. He scanned through it anyway.

**The Scarecrow**

(Jonathon Crane)

Background:

Psychiatrist specialising in psychopharmacology. Studied in University of Gotham. Director of Arkham asylum for two and a half years.

Criminal Activities:

In conjunction with R'as Al Ghol and The League of Shadows developed a weaponised hallucinagen, which induces feelings of terror and panic. This was tested on patients at Arkham asylum. Crane apparently administered a concentrated form of this hallucinagen to Carmine Falcone, driving him insane. Crane also exposed Rachel to this concentrated toxin. Shortly after being exposed himself and being confined to Arkham he escaped (? was released) and evaded capture for several weeks.

_'But where did he come from?' Bruce asked himself. 'And was he always evil?'_

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"I'm going on a trip Alfred."

"Certainly sir. What should I do with our guest?"

"Nothing. Don't go into that room."

"What about food Master Bruce?"

"I'm not going to be away for long. He'll be fine."

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There was dust on his car. Thrown up from the road it covered the shiney red paint in dull brown-grey, as if trying to blot it out. Despite the heat Bruce had been forced to put up the roof on the convertable, just to keep the dust out.

It had been a long drive, even with the billionair's disregard for speed limits. It was nearly noon. But he had almost reached his destination. A couple of minutes later he parked on the mainstreet of a small town. The buildings seemed old and run down, as though they were wilting in the heat. Leaving his car, Bruce headed towards a grey schoolhouse.

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"Mrs. Croakes?" Bruce called, knocking politely on the office door although it was open and he could see inside.

"Yes?"

"It's Bruce Wayne. I called ahead."

"Come in."

Mrs. Croakes was a fat woman. Squashed into a swivel chair she sat behind her desk, on which a poorly painted wooden block read "Headmistress".

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Her greying hair was dyed brown and tied back in a bun that bobbed up and down as she spoke.

"I was wondering if I could ask you about one of your former students; Jonathon Crane?"

"Of course. I heard about what he did in Gotham. Always was a no-good boy. Though it wasn't Crane then, changed his name. So are you a reporter?"

He was surprised. Most people knew his name, if not as the rich playboy then as the majority shareholder of Wayne Enterprises. Still he hesitated for only a second, "yes I am."

"Well sit down." She waved him to a plastic chair that creaked under his weight.

"So, what do you want to know?"

It occured to Bruce that he should have planned this better. "Could you tell me what he was like, as a child?"

"He was a strange boy, quiet and so skinney you'd think he never ate. A genius of course. Still. I was glad to see the back of him."

"Why is that?"

"He wasn't normal." She paused, considering. "I've been an educator for nearly forty years Mr. Wayne. I know for a fact that little boys are rarely quiet _or _still. But Jonathon was. He was... discomforting to be around."

"I see."

"Even the other children could sence it," she said, suddenly feeling the need to justify herself.

"What do you mean by that?"

"They didn't like him, they didn't want to talk to him. There was one group of boys who used to pick on him. Sometimes a teacher would have to interviene when things got too serious, broken bones and such."

Bruce found himself liking this woman less and less. "Did no one try to stop the bullying, permanantly I mean?"

"You couldn't blame the children Mr. Wayne, not when they were forced into a class with someone like that."

He paused. "Can you tell me about Crane's family?"

"He used to live in the big old farmhouse down Maize Road with his great-grandmother. She was Christian enough to take him in, despite her age."

"How come he didn't live with his parents?"

The headmistress gave a short derisive laugh. "His mother was a disgrace, a junkie and a drunk. She gave birth to Jonathon outside of wedlock. I doubth even she could tell you who the father was."

"Thank you Mrs. Croakes," he said, quickly pushing up from the uncomfortable chair. "You've been very helpful."

"Don't mention it. Oh, and it's Croakes with an 'e'; C-R-O-A-K-E-S."

"Excuse me?"

"For the article."

"Oh right... Croakes with an 'e'. I'll remember that."


	6. You'll only find skeletons

Sorry about the delay posting this. I was at my parent's house over the holidays and couldn't bring my computer with me. This chapter's pretty heavily based on the Scarecrow year 1 comics (especially the first one) so I don't know if it'll be difficult to follow without having read that. Let me know if it is.

I've finally got this story sort of planned out properly and I have a few more chapters typed up now so I'll try update everyday. I've exams starting on the 16th though so I don't know how long I'll manage to keep that up for.

Also I'm putting up the first chapter of "Two Against The World", the sequel to "Two's A World" if anyone's interested.

Thanks for the review neo savy, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Hope your exam went well. I'm pretty much better QueenCaroline, it turns out I had pneumonia. That's why I like Crane too :). You should write one Fanfic Lover 4evr, there aren't enough. There should be less spelling mistakes this time Jumana :). Thanks for the review SilverBlackWolf13. Thanks RavensWood, that's exactly what I was trying for! You'll have to wait a bit for that nina (and I don't think it'll be very brotherly) but I'm glad you're liking it.

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A quick check of the satellite navigation system and Bruce had located Maize Road. It was a long winding road, located a couple of miles outside of town. It didn't take him long to find the house. It stood surrounded by fields of rotten corn, left unharvested and allowed to grow wild. The roof was sagging and many of the windows were broken.

Cautiously approaching, Bruce pushed experimentally against the panelled wood of the front door. Some of the peeling paint stuck to his palm. The door swung open, its rusted hinges creaking loudly. He stepped inside.

The house seemed quite normal. Downstairs was a kitchen and several function rooms. Most of those seemed to have been unused for some time before the house was abandoned, if the dusty sheets covering the furniture were any indication.

Carefully, in case the wood was rotten, he made his way upstairs. There were several empty rooms, a bedroom that - judging by the clothes in the closet - had belonged to Jonathan's great grandmother, a bathroom, quite an extensive library and finally; a child's room.

At first glance it seemed perfectly ordinary, if a bit sparten. A single bed stood against the far wall. A shelf held a few battered toys. There was a chest of drawers. Bruce opened the top drawer. It was empty. He tried the second. There was a suit inside, child sized, nothing else. He was about to close it again when he noticed brown stains on the white shirt. Unfolding it for a closer look he stared in shock. It was covered in old dried blood, the whole suit was. Quickly putting it back and closing that drawer, he checked the last. Inside was a cheap spiral notebook. Flipping through the pages it seemed to be a journal. Three names were written on the front: "Dr. Crane", "Scarecrow" and "Jonathan". Taking the pad Bruce left the house.

He was on his way back to the car when he noticed the building with the glass roof. What its function had been was unclear. It might have been a conservatory, though the architecture seemed a bit elaborate for that. Curious, he headed over to it. On the way he passed an old scarecrow. It didn't seem to be performing its intended function. Two crows were perched on its outstretched arms and another on its head.

Entering the glass roofed building Bruce saw that it was literally falling apart. The walls were crumbling and weeds were growing through the floor. Broken glass crunched under his shoes as he moved further inside. There were more crows in here, dozens of them. They spread their wings and scattered as he came closer.

Now that they were gone, no longer covering the ground like a living carpet, white bones were visible amongst the dry brown vegetation. Stepping forwards for a better look, they began to take on the shape of a human skeleton.


	7. Laws Of Contact

Sorry QueenCaroline, it's another short one. There's Scarecrow in this chapter though :). I'm glad you like it Calliope Foster. Have you gotten to this chapter yet?

I haven't got the first chapter of that other story up yet cause I forgot to put it onto the floppy. Should have it tomorrow.

P.S. Hope everyone enjoys this cause it's pouring rain and hailstoneing and I fell off my skateboard getting over here cause of the wind! Ok, I like all those things but still :)

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It was night when Bruce returned to Gotham and morning by the time Batman had finished patrolling the city streets. Stripping off the Kevlar suit and changing back into normal clothes he took the lift up from the caves and made his way upstairs. He hesitated a moment outside the door of the guest room before turning the key and stepping inside.

Jonathan was sitting in the centre of the floor, slowly rocking back and forth with a blanket pulled over his head. Carefully approaching, Bruce lifted it off.

Blue eyes stared up at him. "I thought you weren't coming back," he whispered. A second passed. Then, without warning, something changed in the psychiatrist's manner. His eyes focused and a manic grin stretched across his face. "But you've gone somewhere you shouldn't," a harsh frightening voice accused. "Haven't you?" In a flash he jumped forwards and slashed Bruce across the chest with a shard of silvered glass. Grabbing his arm to prevent a further attack, Batman pushed the Scarecrow to the floor. Glancing into the en suit he saw the mirror had been broken. Ignoring that for the moment he turned his attention to the skinny psychopath struggling to escape his grasp. "How did you know that? How do you know where I've been?"

"Laws of the world. Laws of contact. You can't study something without altering it. You can't enter an environment without affecting it." He was still twisting around, trying to get free. "Without it affecting you."

"Answer my question!"

"There's dust on your shoes."

He looked down. So there was.

"Let go of the broken glass."

The Scarecrow laughed. "Or what? You'll fuck me again?" He just gripped tighter, causing it to cut into his palm.

"Shut up," Bruce ordered as Batman stood on Crane's wrist to keep his arm still. Then, prying open his fingers, he took the shard of mirror and placed it in the bin.

"What are you afraid of Bat-man?"

"You're the one who should be afraid," he replied menacingly, the gash in his shirt now bordered by red.

"That's not an answer." He laughed. "You'll have to tell me sometime."

A sharp punch to the side of the head knocked Crane unconscious. "Not today."


	8. Guilt

Thanks for the review neo savvy. It was so enthusiastic and made me happy. Sorry about the short chapters RavensWood. I tend to either write short ones or take ages to update. The bones are 'great-granny' :)

Warning for mentions of child abuse in this chapter.

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He snapped the notebook shut. He felt ill, wished he'd never read it. More than anything he wanted every word to be a lie.

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Crane hadn't bothered to get up from the floor. He cocked his head to one side when Bruce entered the room. "Are you going to hit me some more now?" A fresh bruise stood out starkly against the pale skin of his left temple.

Ignoring the question, the young billionaire tossed him the journal.

Jonathan snatched it up and held it against his chest. "Find anything interesting?"

"I need to see your back."

"What?"

He strode across the room and pulled up the psychiatrist's baggy t-shirt. Crane tried to pull away but strong hands held him steady. The scars on his back were faint, not something you'd notice without specifically looking, but they were numerous. Bruce released his hold and the top was quickly tugged back into position.

"Why didn't you tell someone?"

"Who exactly?"

"Anyone. Another member of your family."

He almost laughed. "Which one, the mother I don't remember or the grandmother who wanted to kill me at birth?"

"There must have been someone. You didn't have to kill her."

He did laugh this time. "I didn't kill her. I just didn't save her when she fell. Besides, even if there was somebody, there was nothing to tell. There's no law against corporal punishment."

"There's a big difference between punishment and torture."

"But Bat-man," dark humour tinged his voice, "you've hurt me worse than her."

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It was true. Bruce knew that. Jonathan's great-grandmother had twisted his mind. But he'd shattered it, in one brief puff of gas. But he'd deserved it! "He got what was coming to him." Crane designed the fear toxin. Dozens of people died in the chaos that resulted from its release. Not to mention the hell he must have put his patients through testing it, or what he'd tried to do to Rachel. He was not innocent. Maybe he had been once. But that made no difference. He was a criminal.

Still, insane blue eyes haunted Bruce's dreams that night.


	9. Raindrops

Sorry I didn't update the last couple of days, the computer lab's closed on weekends and my computer's not connected to the internet.

Thanks for the review nina. I don't want to give anything away so… maybe. I want to make the chapters longer but the ones I'm posting at the moment I wrote a while ago. Also this one sort of has to end here or I think it'd be strange to read.

Thanks QueenCaroline. I'll _try _make the chapters longer. I know, it's not really on purpose, just when I like a character I tend to hurt them. Lots.

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"I'm bringing him back to Arkham tonight," Wayne stated, breaking the silence as Alfred handed him his breakfast drink.

A pause. "Some people would say it's the best place for him sir."

But Bruce knew the old butler too well. "You don't though?"

A pitch black padded cell.

"I didn't say that Master Wayne."

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It was raining. Pale, shiny drops fell from the navy sky to collide with the smooth plain of the window. Jonathan's head rested tiredly against the cold glass. "I like the rain," he whispered, without looking up from the storm, as Bruce entered the room.

"Do you want to go back to the asylum?"

He flinched. "What difference does it make?"

Roughly he was spun around, his shoulders pushed against the wall. "Just answer my question."

He sighed. "No I don't want to go back."

"Why not?"

He released Crane, who stumbled slightly as he made his way back to sit on the narrow window seat. He was silent for a moment. "It's better here."

"How can you say that? After everything I've done to you, how can you say that?"

"They hit me. You hit me. Same thing. But you feel sorry afterwards."

"And that makes it alright?"

"No but it makes it better."

He didn't know what to say to that, didn't say anything for a long time. Instead he sat down beside Jonathan.

"I like it too... the rain."

Another long pause.

"I've got something for you," Bruce said.

"Will it hurt?"

"No, it's a present. You have to promise not to hurt yourself with it though."

He considered. "Ok."

The billionaire reached into his pocket, pulled out a small rectangular box and handed it over. Crane lifted the lid. He stopped. With trembling fingers he traced the delicate rim of the glasses and took them from the box.

"They're your prescription."

Cautiously he placed them on his face. The corners of his lips lifted in a bright smile. He stared around the room. For the first time in what seemed forever more than just the monsters came into focus.


	10. Sunshine

Thanks Bright Nova and QueenCaroline for the reviews :)

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He'd been telling the truth before, when he said he liked the rain. Great sheets of water falling from the black sky to pound the concrete made him feel powerful and strong. He knew that sunlight was supposed to produce some sort of happy chemical within the brain. But bright days like this only ever made him feel uncomfortable.

Wayne'd had a board meeting that morning and now was expected to attend some sort of charitable fund raising party. He wanted to blow it off. But he knew what Alfred would say. So he plastered a fake smile on his face as he linked arms with the most recent vacuous bimbo.

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Jonathan tried to hide the notebook when Bruce entered the room.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Show me."

"No."

A sudden blow left blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and his glasses askew. Batman took the notebook and flipped through the last few pages. They were filled with pictures, well drawn and signed Scarecrow. Every one was of terrified screaming faces.

Angry, "why did you do this?"

No reply.

"I try to be nice to you and this is what you do?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because these are sick!" He threw the book across the room.

"You may have noticed but I'm not exactly a picture of mental health."

Shaking him, "what the hell is wrong with you!?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you like the list?"

"No I fucking wouldn't! I just want you to be good! But you're an evil psychopath. I hate everything you are."

"You've only become aware of this now?"

A punch to the face knocked him to the ground. And somehow, even though he'd promised himself that he would never do this again, Bruce found himself stripping.

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It was about 4am when he returned to the guest room. Jonathan was sitting by the far wall. He moved closer. It was dark but he could still see the mask of blood on the other man's face. He held out a hand, "come on, I'll help you get cleaned up."

Blue eyes stared up at him from behind cracked and broken glasses. "Go away. I don't want your help anymore."


	11. Straightjacket Feeling

Thanks RavensWood for the nice review. This one's a bit longer neosavvy :) Thanks for the review QueenCaroline. I know it's disturbing (hope it's not upsetting anyone) but everything I write is, can't do happy.

I don't think I'll be updating tomorrow because I only have a paragraph of the next chapter done. I've a pretty good idea of what'll happen in it though so it shouldn't take too long.

Again, some of the stuff in this chapter is based on comics rather than the film but you don't have to have read any to understand it.

Just to let you know, I did have different fonts used in the extract but I can't make them show up here.

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The first sign Bruce had that anything had changed was when he noticed the door of the guest bedroom was open. A piece of wire protruded from the lock. Fuck. "Alfred! Alfred where are you? Alfred!"

"I'm here Master Wayne. What's wrong?" He seemed to have just woken up.

"Thank god you're ok. Crane's gotten out. I need you to go lock yourself in your room while I search the mansion for him."

"Sir, do you really think he'd stay here?"

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Scarecrow laughed hysterically as he stirred together two chemicals and the resultant mixture turned bright purple. Grabbing a pen he started writing on the nearest wall in quick spiky script. The 'laboratory' in which he was working was really disused storage shed. He was sleeping over by the far wall, on the rare occasions that he slept.

From one of the many holes in the roof Batman watched him throw the pen to the ground and shout at it. He'd found him within a week of his escape and had been watching him for close to a month now. He should turn him in to the police. He knew that. But he just watched. Jonathan wasn't really causing much trouble anyway. The worst crime he'd committed was stealing lab supplies.

_'He's still a criminal.'_

_'That's why I'm watching him.'_

_'Liar. Besides, he belongs in a cell. There are better uses for your time.'_

_'Shut up.'_

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He wasn't watching when the Scarecrow began to make a new mask. Ripped eyeholes that surely would restrict vision stared out from worn burlap. The stitched shut mouth was silent, for now. He found some string and started to wind it into a noose. Bruce would understand the presence of that item after what he'd read. Jonathan wanted to leave it out. Crane felt it was an unnecessary hazard. But Scarecrow insisted.

-journal extract-

_Scarecrow stepped out of my mind and into my body today. He saved my life. And he killed someone._

_It was graduation tonight. But they still cornered me after school like always. They brought me to the field by the river, where they could hit me without being disturbed. I tried to cover my head but they still knocked me out._

_When I woke up they hadn't left. They were sitting on an old log drinking cans of beer. They were drunk. I pretended to still be unconscious. I hoped they'd leave me there and go but after a while they realised I was faking. They beat me some more. Then one of them said, "Hey! Let's hang him up like a real scarecrow!" The other two laughed, asked how. "On that tree." he replied. They laughed some more and pulled me upright. Jonathan was afraid. He was shaking. One of them had some string. They tied my hands first. They pulled an old sack over my head. Jonathan started crying. Then they made a noose, tightened it around my neck and hoisted me up. Jonathan was panicking, struggling, pulling the noose tighter. We were strangling. _

_They were laughing. They would have killed me. Their minds were too blurred by the alcohol to be aware of the consequences. I knew I was passing out._

_That's when Scarecrow took control. He _

_I FORCED MY HANDS UP. THE MUSCLES TORE BUT I'M NOT AFRAID OF PAIN. FEAR HAS NO FEAR. I GRABBED THE STRING THE BULLIES WERE HANGING ME WITH AND I PULLED IT HARD. I PULLED IT OUT OF THEIR HANDS. _

_I LANDED ON THE GROUND LAUGHING. I LAUGHED AND I LAUGHED. SOMEHOW IT PENETRATED THEIR DROWNED MINDSTHAT IWAS NOT THE BOY THEY VICTIMISED. THEY RAN. THE SOUND OF THEIR RETREATING FOOTSTEPS WAS LIKE MUSIC. BUT I KNEW THEIR SCREAMSWOULD BE A SWEETER MELODY._

_I RIPPED HOLES IN THE SACK SO I COULD SEE. THEN, LEAVING THE FIELD, I WALKED BACK TOWARDS THE SCHOOL. I KNEW THEY'D BE AT THE DANCE. ON THE WAY I AQUIRED A GUN, A PLASTIC TOY I TOOK FROM THE CORNER SHOP. BUT I PULLED OFF THE RED CAP AND IT LOOKED REAL. IT LOOKED FRIGHTENING._

_I WAITED OUTSIDE UNTILL THE INANE MEANINGLESS DANCING WAS FINISHED. AT MIDNIGHT I SAW HIM, THE LEADER OF THE BULLIES, GETTING INTO HIS CAR WITH HIS WHORE OF A GIRLFRIEND. HE STARTED TO PULL AWAY. I STEPPED OUT OF THE SHADOWS. FEAR LIVES IN THE SHADOWS. AIMING MY WEAPON I CALLED HIS NAME. SHE SCRAMED WHEN SHE SAW ME. SUCH A WONDERFULL NOISE. HISEYES WENT WIDE. PANICING, THINKING HE WAS IN REVERSE I BELIEVE, HE PRESSED THE WRONG PEDEL. THE CAR ACCELERATED, INTO A WALL. I LAUGHED. FEAR IS THE ONLY WEAPON I NEED._


	12. Fear

I actually got this done for today :)

There's violence at the end of this chapter. It's not graphic but I found it more upsetting to write than other violent scenes so far (possibly because of the circumstances it occurs in) so I'm putting in a warning.

I'll try get the next chapter done as soon as possible but I am in the middle of my exams.

Also the chapter names for this and the last chapter were mixed up but I've fixed them. The last chapter is named after a song by The All-American rejects. Here are the words in case people haven't heard it:

_Back me down from backing up  
Hold your breath now it's stacking up  
Etched with marks, but I can deal  
And you're the problem and you can't feel  
Try this on, straightjacket feeling  
so maybe I won't be alone  
Take back now, my life you're stealing_

_Yesterday was hell,  
But Today I'm fine without you  
Runaway this time without you  
And all I ever thought you would be,  
That face is tearing holes in me again_

_Trust you is just one defense  
Off a list of others, you don't make sense  
Beg me time and time again  
to take you back now, but you can't win  
Take back now, my life you're stealing_

_Yesterday was hell  
But Today I'm fine without you  
Runaway this time without you  
And all I ever thought you would be  
That face is tearing holes in me,_

_but today I'm fine without you  
Runaway this time without you  
And all the things you put me through  
I'm holding on by letting go of you_

_And when that memory slips away  
There will be a better view from here  
And only lonesome you remains  
and just the thought of you I fear  
grip falls away_

_Yesterday was hell  
But Today I'm fine without you  
Runaway this time without you  
And all I ever thought you would be  
That face is tearing holes in me,_

_but today I'm fine without you  
Runaway this time without you  
And all the things you put me through  
I'm holding on by letting go of you_

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Bruce was exercising. Push ups. Sit ups. Punching bag. He was sweating. His knuckles were starting to bleed, even through the bandages he wore to protect them.

"Master Wayne."

He'd been so absorbed in pummelling the sack before him he hadn't noticed the butler entering the room.

"Yes Alfred."

"Sir, I think you should be watching the news,"

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"An unknown hallucinogenic gas has been released in several locations in the east of Gotham. Though similarities have been noted between this incident and the attack on the Narrows a year ago, tonight's gassings have so far been of a considerable smaller scale. Accurate information on the number of people affected is not currently available, however..."

Bruce switched off the large screen and headed for the cave.

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Batman's first stop that night was Crane's makeshift laboratory. It was empty. He wasn't surprised. Returning to the tumbler he switched on the police scanner.

Reaching the site of the most recent attack he pulled on a gas mask and exited the car. People ran panicked through the streets.

It didn't take him long to find the Scarecrow. He was standing in the middle of an alleyway, reciting nursery rhymes at the top of his voice. He wore his mask and a tall pointed hat. Combined with his ragged clothes it really did make him look like a scarecrow. And he'd managed to find a scythe somewhere, long and sharp looking.

"Jonathan."

"Ring a 'o rosies, a pocket full of posies!"

From somewhere nearby a scream sounded.

"... we all fall down!"

"Jonathan."

He cocked his head to one side, noticing him for the first time. "Hello Bat-man." He giggled, the sound tinged with hysteria.

"I'm bringing you back to Arkham."

"No you're not." He leaned on the scythe, watching the other man over the top of the blade. "Humpty dumpty sat on a wall..."

In a flash Batman had knocked away the weapon and with his other hand grasped Crane's narrow wrists. He pulled off the burlap mask, was about to throw it away when he noticed something. "There's no air filter in this. Did you gas yourself too?"

"Why of course I did." He laughed again. He was shaking noticeable but his voice was calmer. "It's not like there was much damage left to do. Anyway this gas isn't as good as before, without the blue flower."

"Why did you do this?"

"To help."

"To help??? By terrifying people??"

He nodded. "Fear is most basic of emotions. It's important. Fear stops people doing things they shouldn't. The bullies aren't afraid but I'll make them be. You should understand that. You use fear."

"I use fear against criminals like you, not indiscriminately!"

"Everyone needs to feel fear."

"You're insane."

"... well yes."

Batman started to drag him out of the alley. Crane struggled violently.

"You're going back to Arkham."

"No." He tried to twist out of the strong grip that held him but Bruce held on and felt the half-healed bone in Jonathan's wrist crack again. He winced but kept trying to pull away. "I won't go back!"

Batman took a syringe filled with sedative from his belt and jabbed it into the Scarecrow's arm.

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He woke up in straightjacket. His legs were strapped together. He could feel the meds running through his veins, fogging his thoughts. It was dark. The ground was soft.

_'no...'_

He tried to curl into a ball but the restraints prevented much movement. His broken wrist throbbed. His breath was coming too fast. The walls were melting, sprouting clawed hands that grabbed at him. Crows with bloody talons swooped from the blackness of the ceiling. He closed his eyes and it made no difference. Footsteps, muffled by the heavy door and padded walls but coming closer. He started to shake. The door opened. The beam of light that found its way into the cell seemed blinding. Three men entered.

Fists and feet. Tazors and batons. Screaming and blood.


	13. 11:11pm

Yea I got this done today!

Thanks Bright Nova for the review, I'm glad you like it :) Sorry I made you cry RavensWood. This chapter's pretty upsetting too. Thanks for the review QueenCaroline. I'm strange too :)

This chapter's called after an All-American Rejects song too. I'm not going to bother putting in all the lyrics (they're pretty easy to find on the internet) but first few lines that gave me the idea for this chapter are:

"All the windows swear they miss you

And the doors are cell block tight.

Sweet sedation sweep the issues

And the clock's about to strike."

Also (just so no one complains) I know some people have been helped by ECT but in my opinion it's a outdated and potentially harmful means of therapy.

Not sure if I need to put it this warning if you've already gotten this far in this fic but this is NOT NICE.

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Each breath hurt. It would be easier just to stop breathing all together. He tried. It didn't work.

There was blood on his face. He wanted to wipe it away.

The Bat-Man stood by the far wall.

But he wasn't there, not really.

Jonathan wanted to be anywhere but this asylum, this cell. Anywhere at all.

But the door was locked, all the doors were locked in Arkham.

He didn't think he could stand up anyway. Even if he was sure which direction up was.

He should be afraid. They'd said they were coming back. They'd said it was nearly time for his treatment. But - with whatever combination of drugs that were in his body at that point in time - he couldn't find the energy to care.

He could hear them coming, down the corridor. They stopped outside the door. One said something. Another laughed.

_'Why did you bring me back here?'_

_'You could have let me go.'_

_'You could have killed me.'_

_'You could have taken me to the cave again.'_

_'Why did you bring me back here?'_

_'Will you come to get me again?'_

_'Will you come soon?'_

_'Soon would be good.'_

_'Please come soon.'_

The door opened.

_'I wonder if I'll die this time.'_

_'I wonder if you really would come.'_

_'I like your eyes when you're not the Bat-Man.'_

_'I'd like to see them again.'_

_'I can't if you don't come.'_

_'Please come.'_

_'Why did you leave me here?'_

The three men entered. Two are security guards and one's an orderly.

One moved forward and roughly pulled Jonathan up.

"Time for your treatment," another said, smiling widely.

His mouth extended outwards, become pointed. Like the beak of a crow. They all had red eyes.

They pulled him out of the cell.

Along the corridor.

He squinted in the light.

They reached a set of stairs.

He wasn't sure if he fell or they pushed him.

Blood ran from the corners of his mouth. And the world was spinning.

Everything seemed quiet for a moment, as he watched red droplets fall on the grey steps.

"You're going to pay Scarecrow."

He looked up. None of the men had spoken. But the Bat-Man stood over him, looking down.

"You're a criminal and you're going to pay."

Someone pulled him upright again. The Bat-Man was gone. They were moving up the stairs.

He hated the strong grips holding the straps of his straight jacket.

_'I don't want to be here.'_

_'I don't want to be here.'_

_'I don't want to be.'_

He tried to pull away, to get away.

A sharp punch to the abdomen winded him.

A second - to the face - knocked his head back.

"Now _Dr. _Crane," he stressed the title, made it a joke, "don't do that."

Another punch and he turned away.

Jonathan started to laugh insanely.

"Shut up!"

The sound was humourless, strongly laced with hysteria.

Another blow didn't stop it.

The laughter increased in pitch until it became a scream.

_'I don't want to be here.'_

"You're disgusting."

_'I don't want to be here.'_

"You're insane."

_'I don't want to be here.'_

"You're a criminal."

_'I don't want to be here.'_

"You're evil."

_'I don't want to be here.'_

"I hate you."

_'Why aren't you here?'_

The scream broke down into tears and gasping breaths.

Strong fingers in his hair forced his head back up.

"If you don't want to be gagged then shut the fuck up!"

They were leading him up the stairs again, to his 'treatment'.

He hoped they made a mistake.

He hoped he would die.

Because the Bat-Man didn't rescue villains. And he was a criminal. And twisted. And insane.

They were at the room.

In the centre of the room stood an electro-shock machine.

Jonathan had no illusions that he'd been a good doctor. But he'd never used this.

Electroconvulsive therapy belonged in the history books alongside lobotomy and trephining.

But then, they weren't trying to help him.

They wanted to hurt him, for making the fear toxin.

One of the guards started to unbuckle his straightjacket. Then he was pushed towards the table on which he was to lie.

Time to be strapped down.

They pulled the restraints tight enough to hurt and cut off circulation.

When performing electro-shock therapy it is necessary to administer a muscle relaxant to prevent convulsions and resultant injury.

They didn't.

They stuck electrodes to his temples.

The shadows on the ceiling were moving, making shapes. Darkening, they solidified into the Bat-Man.

_'You said you were sorry.'_

_'But you brought me here.'_

_'I'm sorry I'm not good.'_

The orderly turned a dial and flipped a switch.

Pain.

Then nothing.

Blue eyes opened. Some time had passed.

Torn muscles and ligaments exploded with pain.

The Bat-Man watched silently.

The settings on the machine were adjusted.

_'Why did you bring me back here?'_

_'You could have killed me.'_

The power was turned on.

It felt like his skull was cracking open.

It felt like red hot needles were pushing through his brain.

He couldn't breath.

The Bat-Man stood in the shadows.

A bone snapped.

Blackness.


	14. Dance Inside

Sorry this took so long, I was really busy with exams and turning 21 and then the internet wasn't working at my parent's house which is where I am now.

This chapter's named after an All American Rejects song too! Their songs keep giving me ideas for some reason.

I'm not sure I like this chapter but that may just be because it's not the sort of thing I normally write. Do you think I should finish this story here or continue it? Let me know.

Thanks for the reviews RavensWood and QueenCaroline nd Jynx101. Don't worry, it wasn't neosavvy. I'm gald you like it hermitcrab1112. I know what you mean, that was one of the main problems I had writing this fic but it's fanfiction, it doesn't have to be realistic (that's what cannon's for) :)

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Bruce stood in the centre of the room. Two security guards and one orderly lay unconscious on the grimy tiles. Jonathan was still strapped in to the machine. He lay very still, stick thin limbs held down on the cold table. His eyes were open but blank and fixed. The skin of his temples was burnt where it came in contact with the electrodes. He wasn't breathing.

_'It's too late.'_

Hurriedly pulling off one glove he felt for a pulse.

_'Please be alive...'_

It was there! His heart was beating weakly and erratically. It was beating though.

But he wasn't breathing.

He started resuscitation. The mask got in the way so Bruce threw it off.

_'Breathe.'_

_'Breathe.'_

_'Please just breathe.'_

His lips pressed against Jonathan's - which were dry and cracked.

_Pushing him into the ground. Blue eyes stare out from behind a mask of tears and blood. Behind his own mask Batman can't stop smiling, even though he's not happy. It's more like a snarl really. In his mouth he captures pale lips and bites rather than kisses._

_'I'm sorry.'_

_'I'm so sorry.'_

_'Please just breathe.'_

Jonathan stared upwards at nothing, stared through him.

_'no...'_

Bruce realised his hands were shaking.

Crane had two black eyes. The left was fresh and swollen, the right paler, fading.

Batman hadn't given him those bruises. But Bruce knew he might as well have.

_'I don't know why I hurt you.'_

_'I don't know why I like hurting you.'_

_'But I know I'm sorry.'_

_'Please don't die.'_

Jonathan's hair kept brushing against his face, like the touch of ghostly fingers.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

He continued to force lungfulls of air into the other man's still form.

_'Please breathe.'_

With his free hand he took hold of one of Jonathan's. He could feel every bone.

_'You can't die.'_

_'I can't...'_

He drew a short, shuddering breath.

A moment passed.

He took a second breath. He blinked several times. Pain was clear on his face. "Jonathan?" It took a minute or two for his gaze to come into focus. He stared upwards, confused.

"I'm going to take you out of here. I'm so sorry, about everything."

As gently as he was able Bruce began to unfasten the heavy leather straps. He helped the former psychiatrist to sit up.

More confusion, "are you real?"

"Yes."

He peeled away the electrodes, revealing cracked and burnt skin.

"Are you ready to go now?"

He nodded.

Carefully Bruce lifted him off the table.

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He placed Jonathan in the passenger seat of the tumbler, then got in the other side, started the vehicle and drove away. Arkham did not yet know it was missing a patient.

"Where are we going?" The words were spoken slowly, uncertainly.

"Home."

"Why did you come?"

"I should never have brought you to that place. I'm sorry I took so long to realise that."

"But I belong there."

"No you don't."

They drove through the waterfall and into the cave. Bruce carried Crane upstairs and set him down above the blankets on a bed.

"Do you want to sleep now or do you want me to look after your injuries?"

He shook his head.

"I could get you some food if you'd prefer that."

"No." He sounded afraid, "could you... could you just stay here?"

"Ok."

He sat down on the side of the bed.

Crane stared outwards at nothing. Slowly two trails of tears made their way down his face.

Softly Bruce cupped his uppermost shoulder. "It's ok. I promise from now on things are going to be ok."

Jonathan leaned into the touch. "I think... I'm happy." He brought his narrow hand up to cover the other's broader one, somewhat awkwardly through the sleeve of the unfastened straightjacket. "Lie down?"

Bruce lay beside him on the soft bed, so that they were facing each other. Jonathan scooted forward slightly so they were right up against one another. Long seconds dragged by before their lips touched. The kiss was soft and slow.

"Are you sure you want this?" Bruce asked in a whisper.

"Yes."

Carefully he unbuckled the remaining straps holding the straightjacket in place. Then he lifted the heavy garment over the smaller man's head and off. He removed his own clothing and left it on the floor. Jonathan slipped out of the asylum jumpsuit. He was so badly hurt! His pale skin was marked by uncountable bruises, some clearly covering broken bones. But he wanted this. And Bruce knew that he did too. He couldn't think why. But he wanted it.

He ran a hand down Crane's cheek, brushing his lips. In response he pushed into the fingers, increasing the contact. A small contented noise escaped his mouth. He raised his left hand - his right hanging limp and useless - and traced the outline of the other man's shoulder and neck. He leaned forward so that he rested against his chest. Callused hands stroked his hair. Behind squeezed shut eyes he struggled to push away unwanted memories. He started to shake.

"It's ok."

Jonathan's hand gripped his tightly and suddenly they were kissing, passionately, desperately. Hands moved across skin, never breaking the contact. Letting go would be like dying.

Finally the kiss ended but still they clung together. For a moment everything wrong was pushed from thought. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they lay down on the downy blankets. Lips left trails of kisses. Hands moved lower, caused backs to arch. Breath came quickly and warm. Eyes shone with desire. A gasp of pleasure. Movements became more frantic. Thrusting forward. Friction and heat.

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It was morning. Calmer now, they lay together on the bed. Bruce held Jonathan, who'd started shaking again a few minutes earlier.

"Everything's going to be alright." Hands moved softly along skin. "What's wrong?"

"Thoughts... won't go away."

He knew what those thoughts were of.

"I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I hate myself for it."

A small kiss on his arm, "you won't do it again?"

He turned Crane so they were facing. "No, never."

Jonathan smiled somewhat uncertainly and kissed him again, on the lips this time. Bruce returned the gesture enthusiastically, emitting a strangled moan of pleasure as a slender hand sought out sensitive patches of skin. Need and sensation.


	15. A Broken Promise

I had requests to write this sequel so here it is. I hope people enjoy it. The first two chapters don't have Batman in them much but he wil be a major character.

***************************************************************

He'd lied. He'd said everything would be ok. It wasn't. It wasn't ok at all. He'd lied.

Dr. Jonathan Crane sat alone in a small dark tunnel, one of hundreds that ran beneath Gotham, now accessible only through the sewers and for the most part abandoned to the rats.

"I didn't want you anyway," he told the damp walls, "not at the beginning anyway. Why did you have to make me want you?"

There were bruises on his face and around his wrists.

"We'll make him pay!" the Scarecrow hissed. "We'll hurt him back!"

"No," Crane whispered in reply. "I don't want to." He wrapped his arms around his body and closed his eyes.

"He hurt us. He has to pay!"

"I just want all of this to go away."

Jonathan sang quietly to himself, hands covering his eyes. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey..."

That night he dreamed of his mother, of a woman he'd only seen once. They were in great-granny's old arboretum. She was wearing a dress made of feathers. She smiled and walked over to him, holding at her arms as though to embrace him. She placed her hands on his chest then suddenly pushed him forcefully back. He fell and landed in an empty grave. He looked up. His mother picked up her other child, the one she loved, and walked away. The crows swooped down. He woke screaming.

He sat rocking, raking his nails along the skin of his arms. They'd started to bleed an hour ago. By now he was tracing deep gouges in crimson stained skin.

"Jonathan you're hurting yourself. You need to stop Jonathan. Jonathan stop!"

The slight figure froze as the Scarecrow took over.

"Look what he's made you do! He's hurt you! He had no right! We need to hurt him back, to make him afraid!"

His shoulders sagged. "Ok."


	16. Broken Bones, Broken Glass

Here's the next chapter :)

Reviews make me write faster.

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Jonathan lay on the crumpled sheets of the bed. He was on his side, lying in a semi-fetal position and staring blankly at the pattern of the wall paper. He wondered when Bruce would be back. He wondered if they'd talk this time. He wondered if he'd done something wrong.

***

He lied. He said he wouldn't do this again. But he had. He'd been angry and it had hurt.

Jonathan was crying, curled into a ball on the floor. He didn't want to move but the Scarecrow made him climb to his feet. He stood unsteadily, one hand clutching his side, where he knew at least one rib was broken.

_"We should stay. He'll be sorry. He won't do it again. We must have done something wrong."_

_"No! We will die if we stay. We leave."_

_"He wouldn't kill us."_

"He IS killing us! We go!" He punched the window. A piercing alarm began to sound as the glass shattered, lacerating the skin of his hand. They were on the second floor.

_"It too far!"_

Scarecrow jumped.

He landed well, his small weight distributed evenly on hands and feet, legs bent up against his chest. Still there was pain. Scarecrow straightened and ran.

****

It was almost an hour later that, apparently deciding they were safe, he faded into the background, allowing Crane to take control.

Clinically he assessed the situation. He was in a narrow alley on the outskirts of Gotham. He couldn't stay there but it would be safe for a little while. Sitting, he checked his condition. On top of the injuries inflicted by the Bat-man he suspected his right ankle was now fractured. It was swollen and starting to bruise. The palms of his hands were grazed but the damage was minor, didn't matter.

He tore a strip from the end of his t-shirt and used it to bind his ankle. He needed to find somewhere safe to rest.

***


End file.
